‘life is forcing them to become men…’ (Sergei Kruglov)

life is forcing them to become men
the raw recruits of the twenty-first century
raised by single mothers

to tie responsibility around themselves like hand grenades
to get up from the trench and climb out
to go into battle lie on the earth and timber emplacement
under the measured clanking
of indifferent tracks

you see: the army of deserters is thronging
it advances on its own rear

having crushed the merciless blocking detachment
of the categorical imperative
and its machine-guns made from stars